That red-lettered help wanted sign

The bright, red-lettered “HELP WANTED” sign in the window of Jerry’s Café on the Neosho Square caught my eye the summer I was sixteen.  My search for my first job hadn’t turned up anything yet so I persuaded my mother to let me go inside to apply.  In those days, my parents had a post office box checked daily among the other errands so she pulled into a parking slot.  I summoned up all the bravado I had in my teenage body, tried to stand tall in my discount store tennis shoes, and walked inside the restaurant.

                I asked about the notice and within minutes, without a resume or long interview, I was hired as a bus girl (yes, bus girl back in those less enlightened Seventies) and occasional waitress.  I had time to rush out to share the news before hurrying back into the kitchen to put my purse on a shelf and tying on an apron.

                Now just a memory, the space once claimed by the café now a parking lot, Jerry’s Café was an old school, traditional restaurant.  I believe it had operated under other names prior to and at least one more after my brief time there.  There was a counter with stools and tables along the wall with a few scattered down the middle.  A small additional room held a few more.

                There was no on the job training.  I went to work immediately, clearing dishes from empty tables then washing them down.  I put everything back in order for the next customer, trundled the bulky cart back to the dish room to unload, then began all over again.  During the lunch rush, that’s all I did.  In slacker moments, I also carried the coffee pot around and topped up cups. 

                The menu offered a variety of food, from simple sandwiches and burgers to other home style favorites.  Each day, a lunch special or two was offered and as I remember, getting a bite to eat at the end of my shift, the food tasted delicious.

                I worked from 11 am until 2pm on weekdays, from 7 am until 2pm on Sundays.  I watched the waitresses as they worked and learned so that in a pinch, I could also wait tables. 

                Those days were a learning experience for me in many ways and I still have a photograph taken on my first payday with the money from my check fanned out with pride.  The job lasted until my dad wanted to take the family on a vacation trip.  He suggested I ask for the week off and I did but my boss, considering how brief I had been employed and how soon school loomed straight ahead, let me go instead.

                Fast forward many summers ahead.  I’m no longer a sixteen-year-old girl heady with the wonder and power of my first job.

                Now, I’m a writer and author, a widow struggling sometimes to make ends meet in a comfortable place. After my voluntary separation last December which ended my career with Gatehouse Media/Gannett, the severance money didn’t arrive until January. Despite squeezing every nickel and dime to get the most value from it, that money has gone the way of the dodo bird.

                Now, I’m seeking ways to augment that meager income at least until age 60 – coming this fall – when it’s my understanding that I can draw some widow’s social security benefits.  I’ve also applied for and have received some unemployment, a program I long paid into.  And despite all the hype over how easy it is to sit back and draw money, it’s actually not. I am required to apply for a minimum of three jobs weekly – and prove it. I also was required to register with Missouri Job Center and had a lengthy interview with a staff member talking about what I could do, how much I’d like to make, what jobs there are in any field I have any experience in, and much more – about 90 minutes worth and that will take place once a month. And never fear, the extra pandemic benefits end very soon so while I’ll have a bit of money trickling in, it certainly isn’t enough to pay the bills and put food on the table.  They told me that the outlook for newspaper careers is bleak – no kidding, folks. That’s how I arrived in the place where I am at.

                So yes, I’m seeking a job – whilst I wait to hear on my more recent novel submissions and continue to write.

                I’ve come a long way from that summer at Jerry’s Café, which no longer exists save in memory, but I’m still here.

                The one constant will be writing.  I will always write, no matter where I work or whether or not I have a vacation period.  So in between it all, I’ll be writing and hoping for one runaway bestseller that could change my status quo again.

                There just might be a summer stretch waiting for me out there somewhere to claim.